Dark Benediction

“A l’abri? Oui—” She slid off the bed and darted for the door. Kunz grabbed at her, but she slipped past. She stopped in the doorway and backed up a step. She stared into the next room. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh! Oh!” she yelped. Larkin and Kunz glanced back at her. Rclko lunged off the bed. He smashed against Larkin, sent him sprawling into Kunz. He dodged Giselle and sprinted for the kitchen and the cutlery rack. He made it a few steps past the door before he saw what Giselle had seen. Something was sitting at the table, facing thedoor. Relke stopped in his tracks and began backing away. The something at the table was a blistered caricature of a man, an icy frost-figure in a deflated pressure suit. Its mouth was open, and the stomach had been forced up through… He closed his eyes. Relke had seen men blown out, but it hadn’t gotten any pleasanter to look at since the last time.

“Get him, Harv!”

They pinned his arms from behind. “Heading for a butcher knife, Relke?” He heard a dull crack and felt his head explode. The room went pink and hazy.

“That’s for grabbing glass on us the other day, Sonny.”

“Don’t mess him up too much, Lark. The dame’s here.”

“I won’t mess him up. I’ll be real clean about it.”

The crack came again, and the pink haze quivered with black flashes.

“That’s for ratting on the Party, Relke.”

Dimly he heard Giselle screaming at them to stop it.

“Take that little bitch in the other room and play house with her, Harv. I’ll work on Sonny awhile, and then we’ll trade around. Don’t wear her out.”

“Let go,” she yelled. “Take your hands off—listen, I’ll go in there with you if you’ll quit beating him. Now stop—”

Another crack. The pink haze flew apart, and blackness engulfed him. Time moved ahead in jerks for awhile. First he was sitting at the table across from the corpse. Larkin was there too, dealing himself a hand of solitaire. Loud popular music blared from the music system, but he could hear Kunz laughing in the next room. Once Giselle’s voice cried out in protest. Relke moved and groaned. Larkin looked his way.

“Hey, Harv—he’s awake. It’s your turn.”

“I’m busy,” Kunz yelled.

“Well, hurry up. Brodanovitch is beginning to thaw.” Relke blinked at the dead man. “Who? Him? Brodan—” His lips were swollen, and it was painful to talk.

“Yeah, that’s Suds. Pretty, isn’t he? You’re going to look like that one of these days, kid.”

“You—killed—Suds?”

Larkin threw back his head and laughed. “Hey, Harv, hear that? He thinks we killed Suds.”

“What happened to him, then?”

Larkin shrugged. “He walked into an ,airlock with a bottle of champagne. The pressure went down quick, the booze blew up in his face, and there sits Suds. A victim of imprudence, like you. Sad looking schlemazel, isn’t he?”

“Wha’d you bring him here for?”

“You know the rules, Sonny. A man gets blown out, they got to look him over inch by inch, make sure it wasn’t murder.”

Giselle cried out again in protest. Relke started to his feet, staggering dizzily. Larkin grabbed him and pushed him down.

“Hey, Harv! He’s getting frisky. Come take over. The gang’ll be rolling in pretty quick.”

Kunz came out of the bunkroom. Larkin sprinted for the door as Giselle tried to make a run for it. He caught her and dragged her back. He pushed her into the bunkroom, went in after her, and closed the door. Relke lunged at Kunz, but a judo cut knocked numbness into the side of his neck and sent him crashing against the wall.

“Relke, get wise,” Hary growled. “This’ll happen every now and then if you don’t join up.”

The lineman started to his feet. Kunz kicked him disinterestedly. Relke groaned and grabbed his side.

“We got no hard feelings, Relke….” He chopped his boot down against the back of Relke’s neck. “You can join the Party any time.”

Time moved ahead in jerks again.

Once he woke up. Brodanovitch was beginning to melt, and the smell of brandy filled the room. There were voices and chair scrapings and after a while somebody carried Brodanovitch out. Relke lay with his head against the wall and kept his eyes closed. He assumed that if the apartment contained a friend, he would not still be lying here on the floor; so he remained motionless and waited to gather strength.

“So that’s about the size of it,” Larkin was telling someone. “Those dames are apt to be dynamite if they let them into Crater City. We’ve got enough steam whipped up to pull off the strike, but what if that canful of cat meat walks in on Copernicus about sundown? Who’s going to have their mind on politics?”

“Hell, Lark,” grunted a strange voice. “Parkeson’ll never let them get in town.”

“No? Don’t be too damn sure. Parkeson’s no idiot. He knows trouble’s coming. Hell, he could invite them to Crater City, pretend he’s innocent as a lamb, just didn’t know what they are, but take credit for them being there.”

“Well, what can we do about it?”

“Cripple that ship.”

“Wha-a-at?”